All in a Night's Work
by R-I-C-A-R-D
Summary: Recently sired Toreador Morgan picks up the phone and is drawn into the rescue of a young woman abducted by mobsters. Single-handedly, she attempts a rescue.
1. The Phone Call

A/N: Follow up to Dark Awakenings. Apparently a couple of people wanted to see more of Morgan. Enjoy.

1. The Call

The call came in at five past midnight on a Friday night. I was sitting in front of the wall mounted sixty-inch plasma screen watching back to back episodes of Dexter on DVD. Amy, the hundred and eighty something elder vampire I lived with was out hunting.

It must be said, before I go on further, that I am quite a new vampire. It's been only six months since I had the bite put on me. Adjusting has been strange. The whole no more sunlight for you! issue I got a handle on pretty quickly. I was never much of an outdoorsy girl to begin with. And the whole drinking the blood of humans to survive thing isn't that big an imposition if you don't think too much about it. Vampires possess millennial old instincts that serve quite well so long as you stand down the thinking part of your mind and let the instincts do their thing.

Of course the downside is that those same instincts are, quite literally 'killer.' Let them get out of control and your inner Beast takes over, turning you from a sophisticated, urbane predator into a rampaging blood thirsty berserker from hell. Rampaging blood thirsty berserkers from hell tended to lead short, extemely violent lives as other Kindred hunted them down and executed them. It was all about the Masquerade - the code of conduct we live by in order to conceal our existence from mortals. A few thousand of us, six billion of them - you can see why humanity finding out about us would be a very bad thing indeed.

So anyway, I was watching TV and the phone rang. Considered letting the answering machine take it but something told me I should answer it. I pressed the pause button on the DVD remote, got up and went to the telephone sitting on an antique table.

"Yeah?" I said. I wasn't being paid to be a proper receptionist. Come to that, I wasn't being paid full stop. I made a mental note to talk to Amy about that. A girl has needs after all.

"The fuck is this?" the voice, male, angry, scared replied.

"I might ask you the same question," I said.

"Look, cut the shit! Where the fuck is Amy?" My but he was in a right state.

"Amy isn't here," I explained, as though talking to a mental defective, "shall I take a message?" I clamped the receiver between shoulder and head and picked up the pad and pen next to the phone.  
"What the fuck? I don't have time to fuck around with you, bitch."  
"Do I sound as though I want to be fucked around?" I asked. This guy was beginning to irritate me.

"Look, I need to talk to Amy-"  
"Who isn't here," I broke in. "Maybe I can help?" I really hoped he'd just tell me to fuck off and hang up. Instead he said, "Do you know when she'll be back?"  
"What am I, her mother? All I know is that she went out dressed for hunting and said she'd be back by dawn."

"Shit! Fuck! Oh Jesus Christ, I need help," he babbled over the line.

"So I gather. Take a deep breath," I could hear the gasp in my ear, "and start from the beginning. What's your name?"  
"Chris, Chris Reed." For a second I thought he'd said 'Reeve' and thought the world had come to a pretty pass when even Superman needed help.

"OK, I'm Morgan. I guess you could say I'm a friend of Amy's." Amy had been appointed by the local vampire government - the Camarilla - to be a sort of mentor to me and teach me about the laws and customs of vampire-kind. I got the distinct impression that she felt she had better things to do. Whatever.

"Morgan, right, the newbie," Chris said. _Right, the newbie._

"They took her!" he burst out. By 'her' he meant either his sister, girlfriend/wife or possibly mother, judging by the way he'd said it.

"And 'her' is?"  
"My girlfriend, Elissa," he went on, "They warned me that if I couldn't pay up, they'd take her!"

"Right, so we have a kidnapping," I mentally cursed myself for saying 'we.' I didn't want to get wrapped up in this shit.

"Who took her and what couldn't you pay?"

"It's the mob! The Russian Mafiya! I...owe them some money and now I can' t pay it back. They said...said," he began to sob. I really hate hearing men cry. I held the phone away from my ear until he pulled himself together. More or less.

"They said, I have two days to get the money or they'd start cutting her up! Her face..."

"OK, OK, I get the idea - unless you pay up, she gets cut up. And I suppose you're looking for somebody to go find her, bust her out and break some Mafiya heads?"  
"Yes! Can you help?"

Geez, can I help? I don't know. My vampire instincts were tightening like springs at the mere thought of the amount of bloodshed a rescue op would likely cause. The mostly-human part of my mind was calculating the odds of my survival - in short close to nil. A single six-month old vampire chick against who knew how many Russian wise guys? What was I, Sarah Connor on crack?

I sighed heavily. I could wait until Amy came back but by then, it'd be near daybreak and we'd have to wait until sundown of the next day to even begin to make plans. Likely by then Elissa's face would look like something out of a horror flick.

"Fine," I said. I had to hold the phone away from my ear again as he burst into tears of gratitude.

After a while I asked, "Do you at least know where they may have taken her?"

"They own a club downtime. Vodka Freeze, it's called." I'd heard of the place, the cops liked to raid the place fairly often - lot of small time drug dealers hung out there but the vice department couldn't get any hard info on the actual owners themselves.

"How long ago was she taken?"

"A few hours ago," he said.

"Right, where do you live?" I took down the address - a little housing development project a half hour's drive away. "I'm going to need a recent picture of her - I don't want to accidentally cap her," I continued. I hung up on him as he began babbling thanks.

So, a club full of trigger-happy Russian mobsters, a shitload of humans cluttering up the dance-floor and only one of me. I rolled my head around, feeling my vertebrae creak and went to my small bedroom. Behind the door sat my semi-auto shotgun. I wouldn't be able to smuggle that past the front doors, sadly. I settled for a flick-knife and my .45 pistol. I figured the mob guys would have plenty of hardware on their persons I could borrow for the occasion.

I looked at my outfit in the mirror. I figured my T-shirt with the logo My Face is up Here could use a little something. Something like a Kevlar vest and my leather jacket. I pulled up the leg of my jeans and tucked the knife inside the leg of my boot. The handgun I stuck in a backdraw holster at the small of my back. I looked pretty badass, I thought. On the way out of the apartment, I scooped up the keys to my second hand Ford Taurus and headed out.

I walked swiftly past the elevator which had been out of order for about five years, my boot heels clicking on the floor and headed down the stairs. Once out of sight of the drunk guy shuffling along the hall, I boosted my speed and flew down the steps to the underground parking garage. Soon I was unlocking my car and was heading down the road. I drove about 5mph over the limit and soon arrived at Chris and Elissa's place. I managed to get the pic of Elissa and was out the door fairly quickly, Chris having calmed down somewhat now that he'd secured help.

On the walk back to the car, I studied the pic. Elissa looked about 25, had hazel eyes, blonde hair and a pretty smile. It'd be a real shame if somebody started cutting on her, I thought as I got back into the car.


	2. Overmuscled Doorbitch

2. Over-muscled Doorbitch

Vodka Freeze was built inside a converted warehouse - lots of steel girders, and chains dangling from the ceiling and the like. A neon blue sign out the front illuminated the road with a bluish-white glow. There was a fairly long line of people waiting to get in and at the head of the line, a muscular fellow in a tight black T-shirt and tight leather pants. Hope he wasn't planning on having kids. I didn't have all night to stay in line so I circled around the back and found a service entrance. I stood in the shadows and waited. Soon I heard the faint thump of a heartbeat draw closer and the door opened. A man came out with a bag of rubbish which he tossed in a nearby dumpster. While his back was turned I quickly sprinted inside the door.

Inside the club was as you'd expect: lots of pretty young things gyrating around, an overrated DJ at one end shouting in what I assume was Russian into the mic. The bar girls were keeping a constant supply of overpriced vodka flowing and generally, the humans were too drunk or high to notice me moving among them. I looked around the large room, seeking out a door that would lead to the back office area - that'd be where they'd be keeping the hostage.

There was a roped off door flanked by two bouncers. Overhead was a sign reading Staff Only. Bingo. Of course the hard part would be convincing the two goons I was staff. Either that or somehow sneak by them. Then I had an idea. I took note of a few drunken girls staggering towards the VIP lounge and figured there'd have to be an entrance from in there into the offices. Snagging a VIP pass likely would be easier than talking my way past Goon 1 and Goon 2. I followed one of the girls who broke off from the others and began heading towards the ladies room. Her VIP pass was swinging from a lanyard around her neck. Oh but this was going to be too easy. I got ahead of her and politely held the door to the toilets open for her. "Thanks, honey," she slurred and almost fell through the doorway. I followed her and shut the door behind me.

There were a few other drunk young things cluttering up the room. One was reapplying makeup by the mirror, another was snorting cocaine off the bench through a rolled up twenty. A third I could hear throwing up in the number three stall. Welcome to the nightlife.

My VIP girl used the facilities then tottered to the sink and splashed water on her face then she turned to leave. Bumped into me as I 'accidentally' walked into her.

"Oops. Sorry, love," I said as I unclipped the VIP card from the lanyard. I turned and quickly exited to the dance-floor. I figured I had less than five minutes before she realised I'd swiped the card.

The VIP entrance was barred by another velvet rope and over-muscled doorbitch. "You have VIP pass?" asked the doorbitch in accented English.

"Da," I replied, "I have VIP pass." I held it up and he unclipped the rope, allowing me through. As I entered the private area I heard my girl protesting at not being allowed entry.  
"No VIP pass, no entry," the doorbitch said. Then something in Russian and I watched over my shoulder as the girl was escorted out.

The interior of the VIP area had comfortable couches scattered around, soft mood lighting, curtained off little nooks where loved-up couples could get all touchy-feely.

Another roped off doorway was set into the rear wall, a sign overhead reading Staff Only. Finally.

I figured I only had a few minutes at most before the VIP lounge began to fill up and crossed the room to the Staff Only door, my footsteps muffled by the carpet. At the door, I pressed an ear to the wood and listened. I could hear three faint heartbeats - two nice and relaxed, the third, doing about a hundred beats per minute. I could hear rapid respiration as well and figured that the heart rate and hard breathing belonged to either Elissa the Amazing Hostage Girl or somebody pleasuring themselves and really getting off on it. I really hoped it was Elissa.

I turned casually as a trio of young women and one guy came into the room, reeking of alcohol and a chemical odour that had to be drugs. The four started tearing each others' clothes off and began exploring each other with hands, fingers...and tongues. Geez, get a room, people. One of the girls, perhaps overcome by a modicum of modesty, pulled her blouse up over her breasts and dragged the others over to one of the small privacy nooks. The curtains pulled closed and very soon I heard moans of ecstasy that just had to manufactured.

"Kids today, with the drugs and the alcohol and the hip-hop music," I muttered and turned back to the door. Trying to look as though I was a staff member, I tried turning the door handle. It was locked. Of course. I removed the small leather case containing a set of lockpicks from my hip pocket and bent over the lock.

Alright look, I admit, I'm no angel all right? Even before I was turned into an unholy creature of the night, I had a few vices and learned the fine art of lockpicking from an ex-convict friend of my father's. Turned out to be handy though. After a few seconds' work with the pick, I was rewarded with a metallic click as the lock disengaged. I gave the door a gentle push and it swung partway open on well-oiled hinges. The sounds of the heart beats became clearer. Still three, two still at rest, the third still hammering like a pneumatic drill. The two relaxed hearts were over to the left. I peered carefully around the doorway and saw a short hallway with one door at the end and a second door set into the left hand side of the hall.

The hard-hammering heart was behind the door at the end of the hall. I hoped fervently that it was Elissa. Otherwise I'd be committing a B & E for nothing. I entered the hall and shut the VIP door behind me, making sure it was unlocked this time. Sidling up to the other door, I listened. Besides the heart beats I heard the sound of a TV. Nice, professional outfit, these mob guys. Watching TV when they should have been watching their backs.

Now, how to get in, disable the guards, get the girl and get out without alerting all and sundry? I stood for a moment, head down, thinking. Place like this, they almost had to be involved in illegal prostitution. I smiled, my blood-red lips pulling back from my teeth and decided to try my hand at the ancient art of trading sex for cash.

Or in this case, luring a couple of goons away from their post with the _promise _of sex for cash and then rendering them unconscious. I quickly unstrapped the Kevlar vest and shoved it to one side with my foot and pulled off my T-shirt and bra for good measure. In for a penny, in for a pound right? The leather jacket I zipped up about half way, the better to display my womanly assets. I took a deep breath and dived in.


	3. Kicking Ass and Taking Names

3. Kicking Ass and Taking Names

It proved to be even easier than I had imagined. I simply let some of my vampiric charm rise to the surface, pushed the door open and strolled as provocatively as I could into the room. One of the goons, who were seated at a couch in front of the TV, and oh the irony!, watching a Buffy re-run, turned to look at me. Before he could open his mouth, I let some more of the vampire presence wash over them and cocked my head to one side, smiling seductively.

"Who are you?" he managed to get out, his gaze crawling up and down my body, before settling on my cleavage. I could hear his heart speed up and see the pulse in his neck quicken. _Men_. The other one got up from the couch and, Buffy forgotten, strode toward me. He pushed me against the wall, one hand reaching for my chest, the other began to undo his pants.

"Right down to business, hey?" I said and slammed his face into my knee. I felt his nose break and rammed him into the wall for good measure. He went down hard, his breath snuffling in and out of his busted shnoz.

"Alright, show's over," I said and zipped up the jacket to the throat with one hand as the other unholstered the .45. The second goon pulled up fast. "Yeah, didn't expect Little Miss Funbags to be packing heat, didya?" I disengaged the safety and racked the slide. _snick-snick_

"Say 'ello to my little friend," I couldn't resist saying. The second goon was beginning to back up, eyes darting back and forth before alighting on a coffee table next to the couch. From my peripheral vision, I could see what looked to be a machine pistol.

"Make a move in that direction, and you'll be learning to breathe through a hole in your forehead," I said.

"What do you want?" the goon said as his shoulders slumped in defeat. Behind me, I could hear his nose-broken friend begin to stir. Without shifting my gaze from the second goon, I said, "Tell your comrade there to stay down or I _will_ shoot him in the kneecaps."  
The second goon switched to Russian and spoke for several seconds. Behind me, I sensed the other guy give in.

"Now, as for your first question," I said, moving so I could keep an eye on both goons, "What I want is to rescue the young woman you guys have locked up down the hall." I paused to pick up the machine pistol, a Glock 18 with an extended mag and tucked it into my waistband. Who says crime doesn't pay?

"I don't know what you're talking about," the still concious goon answered.

"Fine," I said and, aiming just to the left of his head, fired a shot. The blast was quite loud inside the small room and the guy on the floor cringed. The other one's hand shot up to his ear and screamed in pain.

He removed his hand and stared at it in shock. Blood from the furrow the bullet had torn through the side of his head dripped from his fingers.

"Next one goes into your head. Now, start co-operating."

"OK! OK! Yes, we have girl! I get key for you to unlock door! But please, no more shooting!" the man was fairly babbling in fear. The goon tossed me a keyring with two keys. One looked to be a standard door key, the other possibly a handcuff key.

"Good boy," I said and closed the distance between us in the space between one heart beat and the next. He blinked in surprise as I appeared right in his face. "Nighty-night, honey," I said sweetly and clocked him with the gun butt. Down he went to join his buddy. I found a pressure point on Broken Nose's neck and out he went too. I quickly relieved them both of their cash before leaving the room. Why not? I'd already committed an illegal entry and assault so robbery wasn't that big a deal.

On screen, Buffy was kicking ass and taking names. "You and me both, babe."

Back out in the hallway, I paused to retrieve my clothes and took the time to make myself decent. I kept an ear cocked for anybody heading this way. But the music from the dance-floor and the energetic moaning I could hear from the VIP lounge seemed to have covered the gunshot. Keys in hand, I jogged to the door leading, presumably, to Elissa the Amazing Hostage Girl and inserted a key into the lock. As the door opened, I could hear the beating heart crank up even higher. _ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom_. I sincerely hoped the girl wouldn't have a heart attack, at least not before I got her out. This door opened on equally well-oiled hinges and, sure enough, up against one wall of what seemed to be a plain storeroom filled with boxes, sat the woman from the photograph.

She was handcuffed to a rusty metal pipe attached to one wall. A gag kept her from crying out but as I approached, I could hear muffled shrieks and see tears streaming down her face. Elissa shrank back from me as much as she could and her eyes widened so much, I thought they'd pop. _Note to self, holster gun and force down vampire presence BEFORE attempting rescue of terrified girl_.

Belatedly, I holstered the firearm in the back-drawer holster and damped down the presence. Didn't seem to help.

"It's OK," I said soothingly. "Your friend..." what was his name again? "..Chris sent me. I came to free you." And if that's not a bad line from a lame action flick, I don't know what is.

Although her heart rate was still going about 110, her eyes seemed to be in less danger of falling out of her skull and sliding down her face. Aside from the gag and handcuffs, she appeared unharmed. Bright red abrasions marked her wrist from her trying to escape the pipe but otherwise, she was the picture of health.

Keeping my hands held palm out and murmuring soothing nothings, I came closer to her and knelt by her side. I could feel her heat radiating out from her waves and smell her fear-sweat. "You're OK now," I said, an undead mother soothing away the nightmares of her daughter.

I removed the gag and offered her a few tissues I found scrunched up in one of jacket pockets. She dabbed at her eyes with the hand that wasn't chained to the pipe. I unlocked the other and decided to keep the cuffs. Hand cuffs, Glock machine pistol, I was on a roll.

"Who...who are you?" Ah, the question of the evening. I felt grateful that she hadn't asked 'what' instead of 'who.' That would have been...troublesome.

"Call me Morgan," I replied and felt and insane urge to shake hands with her. Who said manners are dead?

"Chris...sent you?" she said. I hoped she wouldn't pause like that after every first word of a sentence otherwise this conversation could get tedious.

"Yeah, interrupted my Dexter viewing, the mad bastard," I said as I helped her up. She began trembling and collapsed against me, he legs unable to hold her up. I sighed. "Am I going to have to carry you out of here?"

"I just need a minute," she said. A minute, sure, great! It was only...I checked my watch. I was somewhat amazed that less than an hour had passed since I'd arrived. And in that time I'd snuck into the back of a club, stolen a VIP pass, posed as a prostitute and put out the lights of a coupla wiseguys. Damn, I'm good.

After about five minutes, Elissa straightened up and said, "How do we get out of here?"

I looked around the room for a second exit but there wasn't one. That meant going back to the VIP lounge, back through the dance-floor, past the guards and outside. Crap.


	4. A Fun Night on The Town

4. A Fun Time on the Town

I turned to look at Elissa. She was dressed in an old Nirvana tour T-shirt and jeans, clearly hadn't been expecting to be snatched by hired goons and trussed up in the store room of a downtown club. Life kinda surprises you like that, don't it?

"Ever used a gun before?" I asked, offering her the Glock butt-first.

"No," she said, not taking it. I took one hand and laid the gun in it. Her fingers closed over it reluctantly.

"This is the safety switch," I pointed to it and clicked it back and forth to show her how it worked. "This is the end the bullets come out of," I continued, nodding at the barrel.

"I figured that out myself," she said, an edge to her voice. I smiled.

"Alright, stick it in your waistband, at your back and follow my lead. I took her by the hand and tugged her down the corridor to the VIP room. "If anybody asks, we're just a coupla crazy lesbians looking for a fun time out on the town."

"I'm not a lesbian," she said and sounded offended at the idea.

"Neither am I," _I'm something much more dangerous_, I thought before saying, "But men _like_ lesbians and they'll be a lot less likely to fuck us around, OK?"

She nodded and bless her, wrapped her arm around my waist, pulling me closer to her.

We paused at the door to the VIP room. The energetic moaning had stopped. I glanced back at the room where the goons were. The door was still closed and their hearts beat slowly and regularly.

I eased open the door to the VIP lounge and scanned the area. No drunk, drug-fueled Gen-Ys sucking face, no doorbitch. Awesome.

I quickly tugged Elissa inside the room, just as the door opposite opened and one of the staff appeared. Oh Christ. "Oh Elissa!" I gasped and locked my hands around the other girl's face and mashed my lips against hers. She resisted but then went with it, arms pressing me into her body. The staff guy stopped for a look. "Da! Do it again!" I pulled back from Elissa, who wiped her mouth and seemed stunned. I looked at the staff member still in the doorway. "I'm sorry, but my friend and I were just on our way out," I said as we pushed past him. He didn't try to stop us. Clearly he was storing up images of the two hot ladeez for his mental porn library. Bless his heart.

Elissa and I made our way through the crowds and to the front of the club. The doorbitch manning the velvet rope would be more concerned with fourteen year olds trying to pass themselves off as eighteen to bother much with us.

We got out into the cool night air unmolested and, still playing the girlfriend-girlfriend act, I put an arm around her waist and leaned my head against hers, as though speaking sweet intimacies into her ear. Instead what I said was, "My car's up the road about half a block. Until we get there you and I are lovingly devoted girlfriends, capiche?"

"Yeah, OK," she said and kissed me lightly on the lips. Either she was a really great actress or she wasn't quite as straight up and down as she thought she was.

"So," I said, as we walked hand in hand away from the club, "Why'd you get snatched in the first place?"  
"Chris lost out in a poker game and needed a loan quick to cover his debts. He went to these mob guys who loaned him the money." Her voice quietened to a whisper I could barely make out, "He couldn't pay it back in time and I ended up here."

"What did they plan to do with you?" I really didn't want to know but had to know.  
"I think they were planning on selling me into a prostitution ring," she said and sobbed quietly.

"Really?" I said as we reached the car. "Maybe I oughta go back there one of these nights and...bust a few heads."  
"Listen, don't do anything that'll bring them down on me or Chris. Please, I'm begging you," Elissa said, tears glimmering in her eyes.

"Yeah, I understand. Sometimes I forget what it's like..." I trailed off, about to say something stupid like 'to be normal'

I opened the passenger side door for her before getting behind the steering wheel. Elissa got into the car, and as she leaned back into the seat after closing the door, felt the gun in the small of her back and handed it back to me. I leaned over her and placed it in the glovebox.

Elissa looked at me as I switched on the ignition. The CD player began playing Tool's Forty-six and Two.

"I never properly thanked you back there," she said. "Thank you. So much."

I pulled away from the kerb and headed back to her apartment. "You can thank me by having a little chat with your boyfriend about his gambling habits. Also you might want think about leaving town for a while in case those guys come back."

I glanced at the digital clock in the dashboard. It was time to go home.

Dawn was approaching and I still had five episodes of Dexter to get through..

The End.


End file.
